Saving Her Family

Learn how when Louise Bonnett-Rampersaud's world suddenly fell apart, she found the strength to make it whole again

That was a pretty extreme way of getting out of celebrating our 10-year anniversary," I joked with my husband nine years ago as he lay in our bed, recovering. He laughed for what seemed like the first time in months. It was good to hear. But I knew then that even if laughter really was a great healer, we were going to need a lot more jokes to get us through this.

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That's because literally overnight in May of 2005, Richard went from being an exuberant 39-year-old taking care of his young family to lying in a hospital bed in a medically induced coma. At 36, I didn't expect to be a caregiver, a breadwinner or, at times, the only one raising our two girls, Olivia, 14, and McKenna, 11. Life-altering events don't exactly call ahead and schedule an appointment. But I also didn't expect these events to come bearing gifts of their own.

It was May 6, 2005. A Friday. Our local hospital in Olney, MD, called to ask if I could come to the emergency room. It was serious. Richard had felt pain in his chest and leg, tried to drive to the hospital, but pulled over to call 911 when the pain became intolerable. Now he was unconscious, and his right leg didn't have any blood flowing to it. They might have to amputate.

How was I supposed to answer? Yes, but I just have to finish folding the laundry? I made arrangements for someone to watch my daughters, then 5 and 2, and raced to the hospital. After 12 hours, we were told Richard had suffered an aortic dissection: His aorta, the largest artery in the body, had ruptured.

Aortic dissection had killed the actor John Ritter and, doctors said, would likely do the same to Richard. A blood clot from the dissection had cut off circulation to Richard's right leg, and his surgeons performed a bypass, but now they needed to airlift him to a better equipped facility to repair his aorta. If there was ever to be a chance of saving his life, this was it.

My sister-in-law and I went with him. "We need you," I whispered to Richard, who was still unconscious as he was wheeled into his next round of surgeries. I remember thinking, Even if he survived, would he be OK? If he didn't, would we?

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Miraculously, Richard survived, and in the spectrum of "for better or for worse," I thought we'd had our worse. It had been a tremendously tough few months of recovery, but we could put it behind us, right?

It turns out worse can get, well, worse. As novelist Lolly Winston says, "You think, This is it: I'm at the bottom now.… Then you discover the escalator goes down one more floor to another level of bargain-basement junk."

Six months later, after rounds of testing, we were told my husband had vascular Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a connective tissue disease that causes spontaneous ruptures of arteries and hollow organs. Most patients die before age 45. This wasn't going to be a one-time thing. Indeed, within a year, the graft in Richard's aorta was tearing. Without more surgery, he wouldn't live. Two years after that, in 2008, he had another surgery, and numerous hospital stays for fevers, infections and blood pressure issues.

Each episode took an enormous toll on his body, and he could no longer run the communications company that he'd owned for 15 years. I could almost hear an infomercial announcer saying about our lives, "But wait! There's more! If you act now, you'll also get to fight the bank for the next three years as they try to foreclose on your home!"

That was when we hit the bottom floor, the bargain basement of junk. We were served papers stating that our home would be sold in 45 days. We applied for loan modification programs, but were repeatedly denied, though the action did serve to defer the foreclosure date. "I suppose the mortgage company doesn't realize flowers are the normal etiquette," I joked with Richard.

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This time my bedside humor was not well received. The look on Richard's face was the game changer. I had to find a way to hold on to what he'd worked so hard for—and quickly. But how? I hadn't worked outside the home for years.

It's funny how a mortgage rep parked outside, taking pictures of your house, can make you think fast. For health insurance I found a job assisting teachers at my girls' school. Then, when I wasn't tending to Richard or the girls, I tried to parlay what had been a writing hobby into a career. I had no idea if I could sell anything substantial enough to save our home. I only knew I had to try.

It turned out I could. And just in time! While the kids were in bed, I wrote a book for young readers. I sold it, and then another, to a small publisher. But the bank said my fee wasn't enough to halt the foreclosure. Luckily, the publisher asked for two more books. That money was enough to end our three-year fight with the bank. Today, I'm proud of (and surprised at!) what I can handle. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

But they forget to add that it can also make you mad, overwhelmed and depressed. Though my husband is alive, and I'm grateful for the tremendous support of family and friends, we've lost a lot. The stages of grief, I've learned, are not linear—you can't just walk up to a counter somewhere, hand in your ticket and say, "I'm finished with denial now. I'm ready for anger, please. I've got some good plates I'd like to smash."

For me, tough emotions cycle in and out daily, weekly, yearly. The trick to adjusting to a life you never expected is to allow yourself to have the emotions, to weave them in with the positive and move on. After all, self-pity doesn't pay the mortgage. People ask, how I can keep doing what I do? My answer is, how can I not?

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But I'm realistic. I'm not trying to be perfect. When you pick up the pieces, you might not get all of them, but you can get the big ones, the ones that count. Then you start putting the puzzle back together—knowing there will be some holes. Today, Richard's surgeons say it's as if his body is held together with Band-Aids. That's sort of how I feel about our lives. But I know if I stay in the moment, caring for him and our children, I will find comfort that we're all still together.

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